


don't know just how it happened (I let down my guard)

by lettersfromnowhere



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Day 2: First Date, F/M, No one really needed a “Starmora at Olive Garden” fic but I wrote one anyway, Starmora Week, Starmora Week 2018, blind date au, pretty sure no one blushes this much irl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 22:46:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15873240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersfromnowhere/pseuds/lettersfromnowhere
Summary: Gamora is convinced that nothing good ever comes of blind dates; thus, it follows that naturally, this was unexpected.





	don't know just how it happened (I let down my guard)

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun with this, so I hope it's not as hopelessly incoherent as I fear that it could be. Banter is my favorite thing, hehe. Reposted because my idiot self forgot to use the Rich Text editor and posted this with a bunch of coding gibberish thrown in with the actual story. (Not a stylistic choice.)
> 
> Title is from “Addicted to You” by Avicii.

Gamora pushed aside doors of the local Olive Garden with feigned bravado and steeled herself for disappointment; it was safer that way. This would not be the first blind date to end fruitlessly, anyway. It wasn’t like –

 

 _Okay, initial hypothesis totally wrong,_ Gamora thought, meeting the eyes of her date. He was a broad-shouldered blond in a snug white top that was barely more than an undershirt, she would have rolled her eyes at his choice of top (clearly chosen to accentuate his impressively muscular form) had it not been _unfairly_ flattering. He raised his hand in a nervous wave and Gamora had to try not to sweat.

 

That development was rather concerning, Gamora decided, greeting him cordially; she prided herself on her measured emotional control, her discernment, and her ability to see past the superficial. She wasn’t the type to feel anything on a looks-only basis. Contorting what wanted to be an awestruck expression into something halfway-normal, she decided to ignore the strange gravity of the beautiful stranger her friends had set her up with for the moment.

 

“Hey,” he stammered. “I-I’m Peter. Peter Quill. My friend said-“

 

“Good evening, Peter,” Gamora cut him off courteously, unsure whether a handshake or a casual hug would be more appropriate. She settled on the handshake and extended her hand. Peter started at it for a moment, puzzled, before he caught on and shook it a bit too vigorously.

  
“You have good manners,” Peter blurted out as they made their way to the table. “That’s a nice quality to have in situations where you might be, uh, called upon to make new acquaintances, and meet people and stuff, because first impressions are so vitally important, like that guy who interviewed me for a job at that huge tech conglomerate that makes treadmill desks and stuff that I didn’t get – I was supposed to work in this onsite coffee shop, nothing fancy – always said, and I think if I’d’a been all refined like you, maybe I’d have got it…” he trailed off, his cheeks tinged with crimson at the realization that he was now rambling incoherently. He added a perfunctory, muttered “sorry” and stared at his feet like he’d blown it.

 

“You work in food service?” Gamora asked, stifling an unbecoming giggle ( _giggling? What has become of me?)_ at his unsettlingly adorable nervousness. They sat down across from each other, Peter still staring at the surface of the table.

 

“Nah, I’m just finishing school – took me a few extra years – and I needed a side job,” Peter replied, puppy-like eagerness swiftly returning. “I want to go into marketing. I…like people, and writing, and I like the idea of using that to sell stuff.”

 

“Interesting,” Gamora replied, nodding encouragingly. _Whatever you do, don’t look at his biceps,_ she warned herself. “You seem like that type. I mean, social. But also like someone who’d like writing.” She bit back a slight frown at her ineloquent reply – she’d always told herself that poise was key, and she had very little right now.

 

“Yeah, I wanted to be a novelist, but my dad wanted me to, y’know, actually get a job,” Peter said, slouching against the booth. “What do you do?”

 

“I’m working on my master’s degree in biomedical engineering,” Gamora replied, primly stirring a packet of Sweet N’ Low into her iced tea. “I should finish within a few months.”

 

“Biomedical engineering? Fascinating field,” Peter said, adopting her former manner of speech. “I hold intellectual women such as yourself in nothing but the highest esteem.”

 

“No need to be so formal,” Gamora responded; now it was her turn to stare at the tabletop. “I like spending time with laid-back people. I need a break from my own intensity sometimes.”

 

“Laid-back? I can do laid-back,” Peter mumbled, barely audible. “Uh…do you like Egyptology?”

 

“Egyptology?” Gamora chuckled. “That’s very random of you. I’ve never really thought about it, but I suppose it can be interesting.”

 

“I watched this documentary about Egyptologists a few days ago,” Peter explained. “That stuff…makes me feel like a kid, you know? Like, I love what I do, but I’m never gonna see that and not wanna do it. Like, discovering mummies and tombs and stuff that might all be cursed? That sounds _awesome.”_

Gamora couldn’t help but smile at his childlike excitement. “This is going to sound weird,” she started, throwing caution to the wind, “but I feel exactly like that about x-ray machines. Why that, of all things, right? I guess I just love the idea that the waves can pass through your body without you even feeling them. They’re…so mysterious.”

 

“No wonder you went into biomedical engineering,” Peter replied, grinning unabatedly. “That’s…weird, not gonna lie, but cool. My friends told me you didn’t have emotions. I’m just glad you even _can_ get excited about something.”

 

“To be fair, they weren’t entirely wrong,” Gamora sighed. “My upbringing didn’t exactly allow me to develop emotional intelligence, so I sort of just learned to repress things. But that’s a story for another date.”

 

“Another date?” Peter’s eyes sparkled with anticipation so focused it barely wavered when a bored-looking waitress set down a basket of breadsticks in front of him. He immediately took three and shoved them down as fast as was humanly possible, as if the reassurance of a second date and maybe more exempted him from the rules of mealtime conduct inflicted upon mere mortals.

 

“Sure. I mean, you’re a million times better than any blind date I’ve ever had before.” Gamora shrugged nonchalantly, resisting the urge to shout _are you kidding me? I don’t hate you! That’s a BIG DEAL!_ “But please not Olive Garden again,” she added, hushed.

 

“Nah, twice would be boring,” Peter agreed. “But why? You not like it?”

 

“Childhood food poisoning incident,” she whispered.

 

“Hey, if you don’t want your food, I’ll eat it,” Peter offered, half-chivalrous, half-self-serving. He grimaced. “That must have sucked.”

 

“It did, and I think I can finish on my own,” Gamora teased. “I ordered a salad for a reason.”

  
Peter looked only slightly let down at that.

 

* * *

 

 

“I…had a good time with you,” Gamora admitted reluctantly. They walked out into the frosty night convinced they wouldn’t need another meal for a week (unlimited breadsticks were never good for one’s self-control), arms linked casually.

 

“Is this an appropriate time to mention that you’re gorgeous?” Peter asked with total nonchalance; Gamora couldn’t imagine how he maintained it.

 

“Thank you,” she answered stiffly, grateful for the darkness to conceal her flushed cheeks. “Thursday, right?”

 

“Thursday,” Peter confirmed, releasing her arm as she neared her car. “Thanks.”

 

“For?” Gamora asked.

 

“Giving me the first bit of hope I’ve had in years that I’m _not_ romantically hopeless.”

 

Taken aback, Gamora nearly stumbled into the car next to hers. “You’re very welcome,” she sputtered. “Glad to be of service.” She threw open her car door and practically collapsed into the driver’s seat in a daze.

 

_I guess I wasn’t the only one who thought that went unusually well._

For the moment, Gamora would have to call her hypothesis – “if one goes on a blind date, nothing good will come of it” – inconclusive. And she had to admit that she’d never been more pleased to be wrong.

 


End file.
